Your mind and you are our Sargass… London has swept about you this sc… And bright ships left you this or… Ideas, old gossip, oddments of all… Strange spars of knowledge and dim…

The salmon-trout drifts in the str… The soul of the salmon-trout float… Like a little wafer of light. The salmon moves in the sun-shot,… As light as the shadow of the fish

Go, my songs, seek your praise fro… and from the intolerant, Move among the lovers of perfectio… Seek ever to stand in the hard So… And take you wounds from it gladly…

WITH strawberries we filled a tr… And then we drove away, away Along the links beside the sea, Where wave and wind were light and… And August felt as fresh as May.

“Tout aux tavernes et aux filles.” Suppose you screeve? or go cheap-j… Or fake the broads? or fig a nag? Or thimble-rig? or knap a yack? Or pitch a snide? or smash a rag?

O generation of the thoroughly smu… and the thoroughly uncomfortable, I have seen fishermen picknicking… I have seen them with untidy famil… I have seen their smiles full of t…

When I carefully consider the cur… I am compelled to conclude That man is the superior animal. When I consider the curious habit… I confess, my friend, I am puzzle…

Ko-Jin goes west from Ko-kaku-ro, The smoke-flowers are blurred over… His lone sail blots the far sky. And now I see only the river, The long Kiang, reaching heaven.

No man hath dared to write this th… And yet I know, how that the soul… At times pass athrough us, And we are melted into them, and a… Save reflexions of their souls.

The petals fall in the fountain, the orange-coloured rose-leaves, Their ochre clings to the stone.

LOQUITUR: En Betrans de Born. Dante Alighieri put this man in h… Eccovi! Judge ye! Have I dug him up again?

THE NEO-COMMUNE Manhood of England, Dougth of the Shires, Want Russia to save ‘em And answer their prayers.

The wan sun westers, faint and slo… The eastern distance glimmers gray… An eerie haze comes creeping low Across the little, lonely bay; And from the sky-line far away

Winter is icummen in, Lhude sing Goddamm. Raineth drop and staineth slop, And how the wind doth ramm! Sing: Goddamm.

The spring, my dear, Is no longer spring. Does the blackbird sing What he sang last year? Are the skies the old